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Prologue
The streets run red with not just the blood of my enemies but with the blood of those I loved, those I swore to protect.
I could feel the beast inside me rising, begging for its pound of flesh. Even drowning in grief, I knew all I’d accomplish was more of what I was seeing now: blood, death, torment.
I take in the bodies strewn across the tarmac, limbs bent and twisted at unnatural angles, bullets marring previously unblemished skin.
I harden myself to it.
They want a war? So fucking be it.
My breath catches as my eyes fall on my son.My boy.
My hands fist at my sides, aching to reach out to him, but I hold steady, knowing if I break now, I’m giving those bastards precisely what they want.
Still, I can’t leave him like this.
I drop to my knees, not giving a single fuck that my five-thousand-dollar suit is now soaked from the blood.
So much blood—more pints than years he’s been alive. Now he’s gone, and I can’t put him back together. I can’t fix what I broke.
What good is money when I can’t pay off the reaper with it?
Sliding my arms under his legs and neck, I lift him and stare into his eyes, so much like my own, and bite back a sob.
At fourteen, Neo was on the cusp of becoming a man. But holding him now, all I see is the boy who was my shadow.
And now he’s a ghost. One more soul to haunt me.
I hear Alessio speak. “We need to get out of here, Boss.”
I know he’s right, but making my body move is something else altogether. “They killed my boy,” I hiss at him.
“And you’ll make them pay, but you can’t do that if you’re dead too.”
I nod as he steps to me and holds his arms out. Swallowing hard, I pass the body to him before sliding my fingers over Neo’s eyes, closing them for the last time. I feel vomit rush up my throat, but I keep my face impassive. A don never shows weakness.
“Put him in the car and call for a clean-up. I want the rest of my family on lockdown.”
“Already on—” His words are cut off by one of my men.
“Reports of gunfire at your house, sir.”
My eyes flare before I run to my car, my men right behind me. I climb in the back and take Neo once more, cradling him to my chest now that we’re behind closed doors. My driver and guard know better than to say anything.
I breathe Neo in as the car speeds home, a sense of unease pressing in on me. I already know, deep down, what I’m going to find.
When we pull up outside my house, I lay Neo gently on the back seat before jumping out, ignoring the shouts of my men.
The door is wide open, and a guard lies dead on the floor just inside the entrance with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. I step over him, draw my gun, and run up the stairs, not bothering with stealth.
The smell hits me before I even open the door to the bedroom—the sweet, coppery tang of blood filling the air.
I shove the door open and stand there, taking in the scene before me. A naked man lies on the floor, his body riddled with bullets. Just one of the nameless faces my wife fucks on the side. I ignore him, my eyes fixed on the bed.
There lies my wife, naked and bound spread-eagle to the bedposts as blood oozes from the bullet wound between her eyes. Bruises cover every inch of her pale skin, her wrists and ankles rubbed raw. The inside of her thighs and pussy are slick with cum, as are her face and chest. Her eyes stare in sightless terror at the mirror above the bed, the brutality of her death reflected back at her.
I turn and almost collide with the two men behind me. I shove them out of my way and run back down the stairs. I hear footsteps thundering after me, but I don’t stop. If my wife and son are gone, there is only one target left—my daughter.
